A review of “High Sparrow,” the third episode of the fifth season of “Game of Thrones”

by Miodrag Zarković

Bold. What a word! “Merriam-Webster” defines it in three points: 1) not afraid of danger or difficult situations; 2) showing or needing confidence or lack of fear; 3) very confident in a way that may seem rude or foolish. Keep all three points in mind when you read the following excerpt:

“HBO’s Game of Thrones has been gradually edging away from its source material. Yet Sunday’s episode introduced what is perhaps the boldest departure yet from George R. R. Martin’s novels . . .”

It’s taken from Entertainment Weekly’s article about “High Sparrow,” the third episode of the fifth season of what was supposed to be the “A Song of Ice and Fire” book series brought to screen. James Hibberd, the author of the article, actually describes the departure in question immediately after the excerpt; but before getting to that part, let’s focus for a moment on the fact he called it “perhaps the boldest” one yet. According to “Merriam-Webster,” it should mean that the said deviation required courage, fearlessness, firmness and confidence from David Benioff and Dan Weiss, the two showrunners. That is what bold means, after all.

Bold. Has a very nice ring to it. One might fall in love with the term. One might even confuse it for identity and wish to take it.

Bold, Bold, it rhymes with told.

Okay, let’s see what are we told further in the article. What is this big, bold departure the show undertook in “High Sparrow”? Turned out it’s Benioff & Weiss’ decision to have Sansa Stark, the oldest living child of Ned and Catelyn Stark, marry the son of Roose Bolton, the man who, two seasons ago, murdered the firstborn child of Ned and Catelyn Stark. That is the departure EW called “perhaps the boldest” yet.

And departure it is. In the novels, the monstrous Ramsay Bolton marries not Sansa but her best friend Jeyne Poole, who was practically a nonentity in the show, where she briefly appeared—without a spoken line and never addressed by name—only in the pilot. In the books, Jeyne is the one who gets to be the lucky bride of the biggest psychopath in the saga (which says quite a lot, really), while Sansa at this point in the story is still in the Vale and has absolutely no connection to the storyline set in the North, the coldest region of the Seven Kingdoms.

Bold, Bold, it rhymes with cold.

EW’s stance implies considerable risks were taken by Benioff and Weiss in making the decision to move their Sansa into Jeyne’s role. Risks are an absolute necessity because, as Ned Stark would say, that is the only thing a man can be bold against. However, in the same EW article, just paragraphs below, Benioff and Weiss’ trusted wingman Bryan Cogman reveals something else entirely. Here’s the excerpt:

“Besides, Cogman pointed out: ‘You have this storyline with Ramsay. Do you have one of your leading ladies—who is an incredibly talented actor who we’ve followed for five years and viewers love and adore—do it? Or do you bring in a new character to do it? To me, the question answers itself: You use the character the audience is invested in.’”

Pay attention to what Cogman, also a writer for the show, says: “The question answers itself.” That does not sit well with risks and being bold. Answering questions that answer themselves is never a sign of bravery. It is quite the contrary, in fact. Letting a question like that answer itself may be smart or stupid, wise or shortsighted, rewarding or futile, but it can never ever be bold. Cogman actually says exactly the opposite of what was stated at the beginning of the article: that the show took a safer choice. Not more challenging, but more conventional one. In effect, the showrunners avoided risks by replacing a new character (which would be new in the first place, simply because Benioff and Weiss failed to introduce Jeyne Poole properly when the time was right), with an old one.

Bold, Bold, it rhymes with old.

But enough with the EW article. Let’s put the decision itself under scrutiny. So, how does Sansa’s marriage to Ramsay fit into the bigger picture in regards to logic, themes and narrative?

It doesn’t! For a number of reasons.

First, it could never be negotiated. How could Littlefinger and Roose Bolton ever discuss the idea of such a strange alliance? It’s unfathomable! It is already established that Littlefinger made the proposal (he himself said so in the previous episode, and his exchange with Roose this week confirms that), but really, why would Bolton ever accept any such suggestion at face value and not become suspicious to the point of alerting the Iron Throne of a possible traitor that resides in the Vale? Or even more, why would Littlefinger ever expect Boltons to accept it? Remember, this is supposed to be the world in which Ned Stark lost his head for being not too careful. The world in which the Northern army was massacred because Robb didn’t keep his word. How come the same rules don’t apply to Littlefinger and Roose Bolton, people who, on top of everything, were instrumental in the downfalls of Ned and Robb, so they can’t help but know the rules, which would only make them more cautious? Both Littlefinger sending the proposal and Roose Bolton accepting it are extremely careless moves that expose those who make them to drastic possibilities. Say what you want about Littlefinger and Roose, but however ambitious, greedy or brazen they may be, neither is careless. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be in their current positions.

Second, why the hell would Sansa ever go along with it? As seen last season, she’s the one who basically has control over Littlefinger now, not the other way around. She was the one who lied to save him a year ago, and one word of hers can get him killed in no time. After spending years as a prisoner of the Lannisters, she finally managed to not only escape King’s Landing, but also gain such a power over the Protector of the Vale. And now she’s going to throw all that and be the daughter-in-law of the man who can’t be anything but a nemesis and a usurper?

Third, how did Littlefinger manage to persuade Sansa so easily? She’s appalled by his idea at first, but then she accepts it a minute later. All it took to change her mind was a few badly-worded lines in which Littlefinger revealed nothing of importance nor offered any kind of assurance whatsoever. One would expect something stronger than “You’ll be running away all your life” is needed for such a radical change of heart. Actually, the entire scene of Sansa finally accepting Littlefinger’s plan was an exercise in heavy-handed, clichéd and baseless writing.

Fourth, what is Littlefinger’s plan actually? Let’s assume he hid it from Sansa (which only makes her more unbelievably stupid, though we’re well past that point anyhow), but is any viable plan by Littlefinger even detectable? Like, why would a man as ambitious and cunning as Littlefinger give away his most valuable acquisition, and to Roose Bolton of all people? In the novels, it indeed is Littlefinger who sends poor Jeyne Poole to Winterfell to pose as Arya Stark, but that in effect strengthens his grip on the Boltons, who are now ever dependent on anyone who can expose the ploy. By placing fake Arya in the hands of the Boltons, he risks not a single thing. In the show, however, Littlefinger practically gambles with literally everything. Just consider the possibility that Sansa accidentally slips who really murdered Lysa Arryn: at that moment, he, Littlefinger, would become the one who depends on the Boltons instead of the other way around. But even if nothing similar happens, Littlefinger is allying himself with the weakest ruler of the North in history, and in the process he’s giving away his main asset, who, by the way, could deliver the North to him without ever entering into any pact with the Boltons (in fact, this arrangement can only decrease Sansa’s reputation in her homeland): that’s not ambitious or brazen or unpredictable, that is outright absurd.

Fifth, once Sansa and Littlefinger reach Winterfell, it turns out Littlefinger lacks not only a plan, but also the basic information about the family he just formed a fateful treaty with. He doesn’t seem to know anything about Ramsay, a man we saw earlier being chastised by his father for allowing all the North to see what a monster he truly is. All of which means that TV Westeros is a land where the word of, say, Tywin Lannister’s death travels almost instantly, but news of Ramsay flaying lords and their families never reach the most informed guy in the realm (Varys is in another continent at the moment).

Bold, Bold, it rhymes with scold.

Yes, whoever came up with this “bold” departure from the source material deserves to be scolded and chastised over and over again, until he learns never to say Sansa is his favorite character ever again. Because he actually is saying exactly that:

“Sansa is a character we care about almost more than any other, and the Stark sisters have from the very beginning been two characters who have fascinated us the most,” Benioff was quoted in EW article.

Yeah, they love Sansa’s character so much they took her out of her arc and moved her somewhere she couldn’t belong in any meaningful way. The fact he’s saying that in the very article that deals with “perhaps the boldest departure” that actually involves Sansa, clearly proves the modern public increasingly looks as if adapted by Benioff and Weiss: who needs accountability anyway, accountability is for eight graders!

As a matter of fact, Game of Thrones may very well be the first show that doesn’t reflect the reality so much as accommodates it according to its own image. “You’re going to believe me or your lying eyes?” seems to be the order of the day at this point in the history of mankind, and nowhere is that more evident than in the case of GOT, the showrunners of which seem to have improved the catchphrase into: “What are you going to use for thinking, our interviews or your too-logical-for-its-own-good brain?”

Looks like too many choose to believe not their own eyes and minds, but Benioff and Weiss, even though the two were already caught lying in flagrante. And about the same storyline, no less. Back in Season One, when explaining why they gave book Sandor’s lines to TV Littlefinger, Cogman said it was because of the terrible weather conditions that messed up with the shooting schedule and forced them to make the switch. But in the scene itself, while Littlefinger’s telling Sansa the story of “brotherly love” between Gregor and Sandor, you can clearly see the latter standing behind, in the stands, right by Joffrey. The actor was actually there, in the scene, at disposal and very visible, and yet any number of viewers chose to believe Cogman and his ridiculous story about some weather conditions that influenced the script.

That arrogance in dealing with their own fans is the most annoying thing about the showrunners and their crew. But, one would be mistaken to confuse that arrogance with some sort of confidence. It is, in fact, the exact opposite: a calculated cockiness, aimed at leaving the impression of confidence where there is none.

Just look at the scene with the High Septon being forced naked out of the brothel. What purpose did it serve? The first part of the scene, in which the High Septon was picking whores, filled the nudity quota, of course, but the High Septon himself—no offense—certainly wasn’t disrobed for the same wisdom. He was made to walk naked through the streets of King’s Landing for one reason: to make the similar scene that is coming for Cersei at the end of the season not look too controversial.

See, last year, with the now infamous sex scene in the sept and the public outcry that followed it, the HBO executives most probably demanded from Benioff and Weiss never to repeat a similar controversy. And, while their understanding of the books is questionable at best, Benioff and Weis are probably very much in touch with the readers’ reactions to particular points of Martin’s novels. Like a politician obsessed not with his legacy but with his approval ratings: it’s not about what he wants or doesn’t want to do, it’s about how people are going to react to it. Therefore, Benioff and Weiss definitely know a significant part of the readership think Cersei’s Walk of Shame was a misogynistic measure against her. And they aren’t willing to risk their show being seen in the same light. No way. Hence the scene with the naked High Septon. This way, once Lena Headey puts her bare foot on the same streets, nobody will be able to accuse Benioff and Weiss that women are more tortured than men in their world.

That’s how bold they truly are. That is the boldness that stems only from a corporate giant that paid millions of dollars for your right to play petty games with a source material that is anything but petty.

Bold, Bold, it rhymes with gold.

And yes, the games Benioff and Weiss seem to be playing with fans of the novels often appear as petty. Just look at the Janos Slynt’s death scene. Really, how hard can it be to include “Ed, fetch me a block?” It wouldn’t take more than a few seconds for Jon to change his mind and instead of hanging to outright behead Janos. But no, Benioff and Weiss probably find some mysterious joy in omitting all the iconic lines they know the most faithful book readers simply adore.

Bold, Bold, it almost rhymes with “Ollie, bring me my sword.”

It is, after all, what they managed to do even with the first of those iconic lines: Ned’s “That is the only time a man can be brave.” There is no such line in the pilot, it’s only referred to much later on, near the end of the second season, when Robb tells Talisa about his late father.

What Benioff and Weiss possibly don’t get is that those lines didn’t become iconic because fans confused them for passwords that give access to their secret nerd societies. (Before the show, actually, ASOIAF was pretty immune to the entire nerd culture.) No, those lines are so beloved precisely because they are written as important points in the development of this character or that plotline. It’s never just about Edd or fetching or a block, but also about decisions these characters make and then go on living with them. Lines like those are what makes not only dialogues in ASOIAF but also characters so damn memorable and brilliant.

Partially because of those omissions, characters in the show are often flat and/or inconsistent. The aforementioned Janos Slynt, for example. A few episodes ago, in last season’s penultimate hour, Janos was hiding in Gilly’s room during the crucial battle with the wildlings. One episode ago, during the elections Sam was openly ridiculing Janos and his cowardice in front of everyone, and Janos did nothing at all—in effect, it means he’s a way bigger craven than Sam. But now, in this episode, all of a sudden he’s all disobedient and even rebellious when the new Lord Commander gives him a direct order. One might ask, what did Benioff and Weiss turn their Janos into such a wimp for, when they eventually ended his arc the same way as in the books? Really, how hard, or bold, it is to write a side character like Janos Slynt consistently, especially when someone else already did it for you in the novels?

And in those rare instances Benioff and Weiss are consistent (sort of), it’s for the worse. Enter Tyrion, a character who, if personal opinions are allowed, I find absolutely brilliant and one of Martin’s best in the books. But I like Tyrion only with both his best and his worst parts, and his absolute worst happens in “A Dance with Dragons,” when, all the while believing he was infected by greyscale, he penetrates a poor sex slave and thus possibly exposes her to the deadly disease. In the show, however, not only that greyscale is removed from his Essos arc but Tyrion also doesn’t sleep with prostitutes anymore. Like, he would but can’t! He appears to be an even better person than he was before killing Shae and Tywin. Some call it the whitewashing of Tyrion, but I prefer to call it the dumbing down of the entire story to the point where characters are allowed only to walk the narrow beats that were chosen for them somewhere in HBO’s focus groups-dealing departments. Tyrion is recognized as a protagonist up there, and therefore he’s stripped of layers and layers of complexity that made him such a wonderful creation.

Bold, Bold, it rhymes with mold.

It is what the show does all the time with all the characters. Benioff and Weiss are frequently praised by servile TV critics for their alleged boldness in deviating from the source material (and in the first season they were actually encouraged to do so), and looks like they came to believe it really is a question of courage. But what’s really going on is exactly the opposite. The ultimate result is that each and every deviation only made the story and the world and the characters more lame and flat and dumb, but in all fairness, the show’s deviations could never be bold. Not with all the push for them coming from all directions. Not with HBO demanding them, as evidenced by the reshooting of the pilot. Not with all the money HBO’s been pouring on the media, in the name of promoting Game of Thrones. With all the resources HBO invested in this project, taking the easier, safer route every time is never bold. On the contrary.

Bold, Bold, it rhymes with sold.

A review of “The House of Black and White,” the second episode of the fifth season of “Game of Thrones”

by Miodrag Zarković

Let’s take a somewhat different approach this time. Let’s critique “Game of Thrones” by actually praising something they’ve done.

The first episode of Season 5 introduced flashbacks, but the second episode started with an even bigger precedent: a scene without burping, farting, cursing, whoring, lusting, humiliating, ridiculing, castrating, mutilating, insulting, chastising, tutoring, delivering quasi-philosophies . . . In short, it was a scene in which nobody was making a misery out of someone else’s life to any extent.

“The House of Black and White” opens with Arya on a ship entering the port of Braavos while the captain briefs her on the city, and then he takes the girl to her final destination, from which the episode borrowed its title. It is the same ship Arya embarked at the end of previous season, and the captain is apparently the same person as last year, which could indicate David Benioff and Dan Weiss, the two showrunners, finally resolved their recurring problems with continuity. But that’s not the point. The point is that the captain was not only helpful but also nice to Arya, and she was visibly grateful for that.

Trying to remember the last time two characters in the show had a decent, good-natured exchange, one might have to go back to the first season. And even then, those were the characters already bonded by family or friendship ties (for example, Ned’s respective scenes with Cat, Robert and Arya), or characters directed at each other by their positions (Ned/Barristan). Two persons that are almost complete strangers to one another? Yeah, Arya/Captain could very well be the first ever in the show.

(Tyrion/Yoren from episode three could qualify, had Benjen not interrupted.)

Ironically, it was a small departure from the books, where the captain was visibly eager to get rid of Arya (though he never denies her his service), but at the same time this TV scene is easily among the most faithful ones to the source material as a whole. The world George R. R. Martin built in his “A Song of Ice and Fire” book series is populated by people that aren’t unlike us and they happen to interact with each other in ways that clearly resemble human interactions from our reality. While the story is indeed focused on lords and ladies and other highborn people, ordinary folks are never too far away and most usually they’re reasonably decent to strangers they happen to meet on streets, or at the market, or at the inn. Of course, that somewhat changes in times of war and accompanying horrors, but never vanishes. And that is what gives the utmost realistic aspect to Martin’s world. If you don’t want realism to be jeopardized by gradually introduced supernatural elements like dragons and resurrections, you have to ground it in the most basic forms of humanity. That’s what the world-building should be in a character and culture-driven story.

“Game of Thrones” is, sadly, not that kind of story. Its characters are overwhelmingly inconsistent, and its societies are both superficial and unsustainable. And one of the main reasons is that for four seasons we practically didn’t have a single example of ordinary human decency. Instead, Benioff and Weiss clearly enjoy treating their viewers to a misery porn. In their world, common folks are constantly vulgar, rude, greedy, vile, touchy and aggressive, often without any reason or provocation whatsoever.

Perhaps that’s how Benioff and Weiss are trying to detail their world as adult and mature, but in effect they’re accomplishing exactly the opposite.

And that is why Arya’s story collapses as soon as she parts ways with the captain. When she knocks, a hooded man opens the black-white door and—guess what?—he doesn’t even want to hear her out. After uttering some cryptic ominous warning, he slams the door right in front of her nose and never opens it again, even though Arya spends what looks like days at the stairs and under heavy rain. She finally decides to move on, tosses Jaqen’s coin in the river and goes further into the city, where, later in the episode, she’s about to engage in a fight with some young bullies when—guess what?—the hooded man suddenly appears behind her, forcing the bullies to run away, after which Arya follows him back to the House of Black and White.

If a reason for any of this ever existed, it surely never left Benioff and Weiss’ writing room.

And then a small discontinuity occurs: when the hooded man changes his face to that of Jaqen, he also changes his voice to that of Jaqen. In the finale of Season Two, when the original Jaqen performed the same magic, he changed appearances, but not the voice. One more not too important but nevertheless evident detail the showrunners failed to remember from their own work.

But all that is small potatoes compared to the problems with the second scene, in which Brienne and Pod cross paths with Littlefinger and Sansa once again, this time at the inn. Let’s start with the biggest, most bizarre problem of all: horses.

Benioff and Weiss are known to have had issues with horses in the past, due to how difficult these animals are for filming, but this was a whole new level. Pay attention to this little dialogue between Brienne and Pod, that ensues after he spotted Sansa, Littlefinger and a bunch of knights at the opposite side of the inn:

Brienne: “Ready the horses!”
Pod: “We only have one horse.”
Brienne: “Find. More.

If you think about it even for a second, this exchange is as stupid as they come. Like, are horses a commodity in Westeros or aren’t they? Are they hard to obtain or not? If they are, then how the hell is Pod to “find more” in no time? If they aren’t, what the hell were Brienne and Pod doing with just one horse all this time?

For comparison, imagine a similar dialogue but on modern Earth, where cars are the prime mode of transportation: “Go start our cars.” “We have only one car.” “Find more!” See how absurd it gets when put in a familiar environment? And that is the biggest, most frequent deficiency of the show: too much of the stuff Benioff and Weiss came up with is completely unsustainable in any reasonable and logical surrounding.

Issues like those are dealt with on basic levels of writing classes, or even acting classes for that matter. There, one learned early on to be vigilant about the details that could betray the fundamental illusion the audience is being drawn into by the artist, be it a creator or a performer. It’s details that most easily corrode the glamor, whether the audience recognizes it instantly and consciously or not. And in the case of GOT, it’s not even that hard to immediately recognize all the missteps the show creators are making in every given episode.

After the nonsense with the horses, there’s a rare, and therefore remarkable, example of consistency in the show in regards to Brienne: she’s still to meet a Stark girl’s company she won’t start a fight with. Last year it was Sandor escorting Arya, this time around it’s the knights of the Vale escorting Sansa. It’s as if her actual priority is not to protect late Lady Catelyn’s daughters, but to kill everyone who happens to protect them at the moment. Here, she killed two of the knights that guarded Littlefinger and Sansa, but only because she had to rescue Pod. What was her initial intent is hard to tell, just like with great many of the actions characters in the show undertake. Once again, if Brienne ever had anything that resembles a plan when she ordered Pod to “ready the horses,” it’s still well and safe in the writing room of Benioff and Weiss.

Brienne also seems sworn to never mention a sister to any of the Stark girls. Just like last year she didn’t tell Arya anything about Sansa (which was understandable, truth be told), in this episode she managed to hide from Sansa the fact that she saw Arya recently. Again, a consistency! Not in logic, but at least in writing. Enjoy it while it lasts.

Bronn’s not as lucky as Brienne. His reasoning changes rapidly, as witnessed in the first scene he appears in this season. Last year, he refused to be Tyrion’s champion against Gregor Clegane because he wasn’t too much into “if and may and could.” However, when Jaime Lannister presented him with an offer that is nothing but “if and may and could,” Bronn accepted. And, in all fairness, Jaime’s offer is way more dangerous than Tyrion’s. Gregor Clegane was a beast, a freak of nature, a killing monster, but Dorne is an entire region. Kidnapping a royal hostage from the heart of a hostile region and bringing her back safely half a continent away, well, that sounds quite more perilous than challenging one man, even if it happens to be The Mountain.

But it’s not only perilous, it’s also absolutely stupid, at least on Jaime’s part. The entire plan is. First, why bring just Bronn along? Why not one more sellsword, or a knight? Why not two more? A party of three or four can be as light and fast as a pair, and the extra fighter or two can really make a difference between life and death on a mission like this one. The only reason one can think of is that, per the industry’s common wisdom, the buddy comedy commands just two participants. Since the showrunners obviously liked the “chemistry” between Jaime and Bronn, they saw no reason to disturb it by bringing more people into the mix, even if the in-story logic would have it otherwise.

Second, and even more important, what’s Jaime’s goal anyway if he actually doesn’t want to start a war, as he says to Cersei when he pitches his brilliant idea to her? How does he expect Dorne to react once he kidnaps Myrcella right from their very court and thus breaks the deal that sealed their shaky alliance? What is this world in which suicide missions like Jaime’s are actually expected not only to succeed but also to have no consequences whatsoever?

Stannis has Melisandre and her shadow-babies? Big deal! The Lannisters have Jaime. He’s a shadow-baby on cocaine! Jaime can reach further than Mel’s creatures and can perform much more sophisticated operations than just trust a shadow dagger through one’s throat. How come the Lannisters hadn’t thought of using him that way before?

While he’s in Dorne, by the way, would Jaime be kind enough to remove whoever was directing the scenes staged in that particular region of Westeros? So far we had just one such a scene, but it was enough. In it, Ellaria Sand, paramour of the late Oberyn Martell, confronts Oberyn’s brother and Dorne’s Prince Doran, demanding his approval to tear poor Myrcella to pieces, in retaliation for Oberyn’s death. Everything’s cartoonish about that piece of television: the dialogue is worded expectedly poorly, the camera work is more than lacking (when you’re having one of the most amazing locations in the world as your set, why not show its full beauty from, say, an aerial view?), and the acting is so one-note it hurts. Indira Varma as Ellaria and Alexander Siddig as newly-introduced Doran are experienced actors and proven in other roles. So, for the fact that neither of them changes their face expression during their minute-and-a-half long conversation, it’s probably the director who’s responsible.

The situation in Meereen is something not even Jaime the Commando could solve. When the story entered that city, apparently it ended 1) slavery, and 2) rationality. And sadly, nobody’s fighting to restore the latter, while the former has numerous champions, some of them even hiding inside the walls. What are they doing there? How did they get there? How did they ever plan to get out of there? Well, we’re like the Unsullied in patrol, too conspicuous, so we’ll probably never be told.

What does Dany want to do with the captured Son of the Harpy? To put him on trial, of course, like any reasonable 21st century leader only should. The problem is, she’s not in the 21st century. She’s ruling a recently conquered medieval-like city that used to run on slavery for centuries, so the very idea of a trial for such an unquestionable offense is rather preposterous. But even that aside, what would be the point of the trial in this particular instance? Is the captured fellow denying he’s a member of the terrorist group that’s behind the murders? Can he at all, considering the way he was captured? “We do not know what this man did or didn’t do, give him a trial at least,” says Ser Barristan, but in all actuality they do know the captured man was hiding inside the wall with weapons and a mask. What, he was hiding in the wall by accident? And what judicial bodies would conduct a trial? Would the trial be open? Would the accused therefore get the chance to address the masses and spread the poisonous ideas of his group? Really, how would a trial even look like?

We’ll never know, only not because we’re too conspicuous but because Mossador took the justice into his own hands and killed the prisoner. Did Mossador himself get a fair trial? Well, no. He was denied all those mysterious judicial possibilities that were meant for the Son of the Harpy. Mossador was simply executed in front of thousands of citizens of Meereen, both ex-slaves and former slavers. And of course, the former didn’t take it too kindly. How did they react? As if they came from Monty Python’s famous 1979 film “Life of Brian”: there’s a very similar scene in there, with the crowd of followers gathered outside of Brian’s window and answering unanimously to his complicated questions; the difference is, the Monty Python’s scene was meant to ridicule scenes like the execution of Mossador; Benioff and Weiss therefore have the dubious honor of being alluded to in a Monty Python movie 36 years ago.

It’d be interesting to find out what Benioff and Weiss really think of those poor ex-slaves in Meereen. What they think of their show’s viewers, however, is pretty evident and most precisely articulated in the Wall scenes in this episode.

The image they have of their core audience is illustrated by the members of the Night’s Watch in the elections: they can be persuaded into anything. A few lines by Samwell Tarly, who’s likely a stand-in for the modern TV critics that keep praising “Game of Thrones” in their weekly reviews, was all it took for both the voters and the viewers to forget what an incompetent fool Jon Snow was for the previous three seasons. Strangely, it also served to erase the memory of Sam’s advice to Jon just a minute earlier, when he was urging Jon to accept Stannis’ proposition. Even Sam seemed to completely forget about it: one moment he was prompting Jon to leave the Night’s Watch, next moment he was nominating his friend to lead the Black Brothers.

Once again, it was a blatant example of the show not taking itself seriously at all and going back on its own internal logic in just a minute or thereabouts. That has to be a new record.

And what Benioff and Weiss think of the viewers they inherited from the source material, they showed in the scene in which Selyse Baratheon chastises her daughter Shireen. “All your books and you still don’t know,” says the Queen at the Wall.

Yes, all our books, and we basically have no idea what is going on in this show that was supposed to be an adaptation of those books. And, so far, it doesn’t look like the show is better off because of it. Quite the opposite.

A review of “The wars to Come,” the first episode of the fifth season of “Game of Thrones”

by Miodrag Zarković

HBO seems to be making a habit out of placing “Game of Thrones” in the wrong hands.

This past weekend, the first four episodes of Season 5 of “Game of Thrones” were leaked on the internet, immediately reaffirming the epic fantasy as the most pirated television show in the world. HBO soon released a statement, confirming that “the leaked four episodes of the upcoming season of Game of Thrones originated from within a group approved by HBO to receive them.”

One might think they’re somewhat used to the situation by now. As in, this really shouldn’t be the first time they realized they trusted the wrong people about “Thrones.” And we’re definitely not talking about internet piracy.

In April 2011, when the debut season premiered, HBO wasn’t suspicious, but, after the second episode aired, many a fan expressed their concerns. The reason was a particular scene in which Cersei Lannister visits Bran Stark, who’s in a coma, and tries to comfort his mother Catelyn. And what a comforting it was! To the woman already half-mad because of the condition her son finds himself in, Cersei tells a story about the child she herself lost to a fever years ago.

That scene had absolutely no business being in a show based on the “A Song of Ice and Fire” series by George R. R. Martin. And now, four years later, it’s pretty obvious why.

“How many children does Scarlett O’Hara have?” asked Martin recently, referring to the differences between the “Gone with the Wind” book and its film adaptation, and implying two canons for the same story is not something unheard of. Well, Mr. Martin, you were possibly addressing the wrong audience about the wrong mother. It’s not us you had to discuss Scarlett’s kids with, it was David Benioff and Dan Weiss you had to discuss Cersei Lannister’s posterity with. Because, as evidenced by the Season 5 premiere, Benioff and Weiss, the duo behind “Game of Thrones,” clearly needed some help in keeping track of their own imagination.

When asked how many children Cersei Lannister gave birth to, one isn’t necessarily to choose between the show and its source material but—between two different seasons of the same show! Back in 2011, as explained, Cersei bore at least four children: Joff, Myrcella, Tommen and a boy who died of fever. Come 2015, and Cersei Lannister mothered only three kids: that’s what she was foretold as a kid, and that’s what she obviously believes in. Yes, we’re talking about the flashback scene, the historical first in the “Game of Thrones” universe that opened the new season, titled “The Wars to Come”. In the scene, Cersei and her hysterical friend (a sidekick kid that continually and loudly advises the main kid against the thing they’re actually doing, is one of the oldest and most boring clichés in storytelling, by the way), visit a witch able to foresee the future. When young Cersei demands to know hers, the witch tells her she’ll have, pay attention, three children of her own!

The number is the same as in the books, but, alas, it doesn’t add up when you add the poor kid Cersei was talking about in Season 1. And the scene with Cat wasn’t the only one Cersei mentioned the dead boy in. She also brought up the kid while talking to Robert Baratheon, in Episode 5. It actually seals the deal that the unfortunate infant did exist in the show universe in 2011, because otherwise talking about him with the man who fathered him would make no sense at all.

That’s “Game of Thrones” for you. Go on, count Scarlett O’Hara’s children as many times as you like and draw any conclusion you find fit, just so long as you pay no attention to the kids actual characters in the show keep mentioning and then totally forgetting about a couple of seasons later. It’s not a big deal, after all. Who among us isn’t confused about the number of kids we produce? Nobody said parenting was easy, counting your children included.

But, truth be told, more serious issues than pure math are involved here. Back in 2011, fans of the books didn’t need a witch to realize how troubling the story about Cersei’s  dead boy truly was. The entire scene had a neon sign that telegraphed Benioff & Weiss’ intention to humanize the queen of Westeros. That wouldn’t be a problem had she not been humanized in the books, but she was. Which means Benioff & Weiss were repairing something that wasn’t broken. No good could come from that.

Besides the now-you-know-them-now-you-don’t kids, one more thing was notably absent from the TV prophecy: the valonqar, e.g. the younger brother destined to squeeze the life out of Cersei once all of her children are dead. It’s completely puzzling that Benioff & Weiss decided to remove the crucial part which made the prophecy what it is.

In “The Wars to Come,” there’s one more female character completely rid of any possible valonqar: Sansa Stark. Once, she had two younger brothers of her own, Bran and Rickon. The show, however, didn’t have Sansa even acknowledge their existence or their “deaths” ever since she left Winterfell early in Season 1. Instead, she was last seen preoccupied with her cousin Robert Arryn, the Lord of the Vale.

But it wasn’t for long. In the first scene of the new season they appear in, Littlefinger and Sansa leave Robert to be fostered at Yohn Royce’s household.

If you don’t recall instantly, Robert is the neurotic kid that was supposedly the centerpiece of the unrevealed but strongly hinted at scheme Littlefinger and Sansa planned last year. In the already infamous scene that ended her Season 4 arc, Sansa appears at the top of the stairs in an ominous dress (really ominous, not like the TV witch’s prophecy) of her own creation, and joins Littlefinger in manipulating the terrified Robert. “Shall we go?” she asked seductively, before the scene ended, along with her story for the season. Next time we saw her was this Sunday, and it looks like there really was no plan for Robert after all. A year ago, when she invited them to go somewhere, she was apparently talking about Yohn Royce’s household. Taking poor Robert out of the Eyrie, that was the task Sansa had to dress herself for so strangely! That’s why she had to become a seductress overnight. Of course, Robert would never follow her had she kept her hair red, her dress green, and her cleavage unexposed.

Seriously now, manipulating Robert Arryn seems like one more strange direction that Benioff & Weiss abruptly took, and then even more abruptly abandoned after realizing it led nowhere. It was a pure waste of everyone’s time, which is the one resource the show doesn’t have in abundance. Other things Sansa’s arc this season already managed to abandon, however, are even more troubling. Because, along with the time, logic suffered too.

There is no logic whatsoever in Littlefinger’s explanation on why they are leaving the Vale. “So, where are we going? To a land where you trust everyone?” asks Sansa once they’re in a carriage. “To a land so far from here that even Cersei Lannister can’t get her hands on you,” answers Lord Baelish, thus making the audience as puzzled as Sansa seems to be.

You see, thanks to the information from the production and images from the trailers and incidents mentioned at the beginning of this article, it’s not a secret he’s taking Sansa to Winterfell, which is ruled by the Boltons at the moment. And you have to be a moron to run from Cersei by hiding among the Boltons. So, either TV Littlefinger is the moron for trusting the Boltons on any level whatsoever, or TV Sansa is a moron who doesn’t realize Littlefinger is about to sell her to the worst possible bidders, or . . . you know . . . like, HBO should really be way more careful about who they’re sending “Game of Thrones” episodes to.

Sansa’s storyline this season is emblematic of the biggest problem the show continues to suffer from: the lack of any context whatsoever. And it’s not just about the faithfulness to the source material. Yes, Martin’s novels offer any number of contexts that could and should have been exploited on screen to no regret. Benioff & Weiss, however, ignored the majority and used only a handful of them, and added many contexts they invented, as lacking as the latter may be. But eventually it’s all for nothing, because Benioff & Weiss apparently didn’t meet a context they were careful not to violate in a blatant way.

Really, why would anyone, be it Littlefinger or someone else, go all those lengths to save Sansa from King’s Landing, only to hand her over to one of the rare families that is visibly more disturbing and depraved than the Lannisters? It makes no sense at all. Not to mention that Littlefinger has no reason to expect the Boltons wouldn’t turn Sansa over to the Iron Throne the first chance they get. Roose and Ramsay aren’t famous for their loyalty, after all. Why would anyone expect a better treatment from them than the one Robb Stark received?

But no, looks like Benioff & Weiss didn’t think Sansa’s TV arc through. No wonder it’s only becoming a bigger and bigger mess: at one point, Littlefinger was saving Sansa from the Lannisters; next moment, she was saving him from the Lords of the Vale and the accusation about the death of Lysa Arryn; then, in no time, the two of them seemingly agreed to control the Vale by manipulating Lysa’s challenged son; alas, no, Littlefinger actually had something entirely different in mind, and what he plans now is, by the way, far worse than anything he or Sansa or both possibly intended up to that point.

That’s what you get when you write ignoring the consequences your decisions may have.

“The Wars to Come” contains at least two more blunt examples of ignored contexts. Chronologically, the first is the scene with Cersei and Jaime in the sept. The disaster was a given. There’s Jaime, there’s Cersei, there’s a dead body right by them, they’re alone and at a holy place. The context of messing with such an opportunity in a very wrong way is not the one Benioff & Weiss could ever ignore. And they did mess with it, big time.

“Did you set him free?” asks Cersei to her twin brother, referring to Tyrion, of course. Jaime instantly forgets he has a tongue, which Cersei correctly understands as the confirmation that yes, he was the one who released the Imp. And she’s not about to let her twin brother go off the hook lightly: “Tyrion may be a monster, but at least he killed our father on purpose. You killed him by mistake. A stupidity.”

And that’s it. That is all the punishment Jaime will receive from Cersei for saving the person she hated all of her life. Just to sum things up: almost the entire Season 4, Cersei spent carefully arranging Tyrion’s death, and when she was finally about to get precisely what she wanted, her little brother somehow escaped from the dungeons and managed to murder their father and the family’s patriarch, and then she finds out it was her other brother that started this chain of events by breaking the law and releasing Tyrion on his own—and she does nothing but chastise Jaime? It all comes down to scolding him!

That kind of storytelling actually isn’t connectable to a competent writing. Cersei is either obsessed with bringing Tyrion to his death, or she isn’t. Tywin’s death is either a big deal, or not. And if the characters themselves don’t seem affected by the crucial events at all, why would the audience be? If incidents like Tyrion’s escape and Tywin’s death effectively have no meaning for Cersei or Jaime, why would they mean anything to the audience?

Similar questions may be asked in regards to the closing scene of the episode, in which Mance Rayder refuses Stannis’ offer and chooses to be burned alive. The scene is so shallow and self-serving it looks like the logic perished in flames long before the King Beyond the Wall. Really, why would Mance refuse Stannis? Is not bending the knee really that more important than saving lives? And if so, why did the Wildlings ever bother to flee south in the first place? What the hell did Mance expect: to enter the realm, but avoid becoming a subject to one king or another, and lose not a single man in the process?

A season or two ago, his plan looked very differently. A season or two ago, he wasn’t opposed to the very idea of Wildlings fighting their way into the Seven Kingdoms. But now, when one Stannis Baratheon effectively offers them the help of his troops, Mance refuses? Suddenly, he’s a conscientious objector who’d rather burn than pick a sword against another human being?

“You’re a good lad, truly you are, but if you can’t understand why I won’t enlist my people in a foreigner’s war, there’s no point explaining,” says Mance to Jon before their final goodbye to each other. But it’s all wrong. From the very beginning, the Wildlings had to count on the armed resistance their invasion on the Seven Kingdoms will be inevitably met with. Fighting the 7K armies is not a possibility Stannis introduced. If anything, Stannis recognizes the common cause and proposes to join forces, since they obviously face the same enemy. But Mance refuses. And instead chooses to be burned alive. The reason be damned.

The first episode of the new season ended right after Jon Snow put Mance out of his burning misery by killing him with an arrow through the heart. And the big question remained hanging in the air:

Really, HBO, why weren’t you much more careful with granting access to this material?